


Memory

by gotta_write_them_all (locky)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-27 00:04:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7595545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/locky/pseuds/gotta_write_them_all
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Bucky's last night in Brooklyn before shipping out. Neither of them talk about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory

Neither of them talk about it. Bucky’s his usual self, cracking jokes with the dames trying to make everyone in the pub feel comfortable. “Next round’s on me, pals” he announces proudly as he steals giggles from Barb. For once, Steve doesn’t want to be a burden so he gives it his best, alcohol makes him talkative and slow.

Two hours later they are back in Brooklyn saying goodbye to Barb and Missy. Bucky kisses them both on the cheek and thanks them for a great time. They giggle and wish him good luck. Steve gets a friendly kiss from Missy and a handshake from Barb. The night is unusually dark and starless as if the sky is grieving with Steve. They pass the docks when Bucky suddenly speaks, eyes fixed on the road “Missy likes you. You should ask her out”.  
Steve’s used to Bucky trying to set him up with dames and usually, he’s fine with it. He has long accepted that no one will ever want him. Hell, they’d be a fool to marry a cripple anyway. So yeah, Steve has made peace with it, he just wishes Bucky would too.  
But tonight’s different. Tonight he’s angry. He has been angry at so many things lately and now at Missy too, for being on the receiving end of his drunken whispers and for that peck. He’s angry at himself because he’s no good. He’s angry because the time’s almost up, dawn is just a couple of hours away and Bucky, still slightly dizzy from the liquor, looking at starless sky keeps talking about Missy and Steve like it’s bound to happen …  
But it’s Bucky’s last night at home and Steve has had maybe a bit too much to drink himself so all he says is “I don’t think she’s right for me”. Bucky’s a couple of steps ahead of him as he stops, turns around and smiles at him one of those smiles that look like a happy riot all over his face.  
Steve looks at Bucky and his stomach drops, burns from more than just whiskey. Then Bucky’s running and yelling at Steve to chase him. And Steve does because he doesn’t want to let him out of his sight, not yet, not ever. He finds Bucky around the corner, panting, leaning against what looks like a photo booth.  
“I think I’m getting too old for the chases, Stevie” he says between heavy breaths and all Steve can think about is that Bucky’s going to war tomorrow and he might never get old.  
“I need fresh air” he declares. They cross the street to the peer. Steve sits down next to Bucky, old oak of the deck feels rough against his palms.  
Bucky’s breathing eases, the steady noise of the ocean takes over. It’s still pitch dark and Steve’s not sure if his eyes are closed or open. Cool breeze is dances in his hair.  
“Will you miss me, Stevie?” Bucky whispers, between the waves.  
That’s when Steve knows his eyes had been closed all this time. When he opens them he can see Bucky looking at the ocean, first signs of approaching sunrise contouring his profile.  
Steve takes a deep gulp of ocean air, feels salt in the air burn his nostrils and he says  
“You know I will, Buck. More than anything”  
Bucky shivers and for a moment he looks so small, Steve thinks they must have swapped places.  
Bucky turns his gaze from where the light is rising, says “Good”. Next thing he’s on his feet dragging Steve with him.  
They stop at the photo booth. Bucky finds some change in the pocket of his uniform and then they are inside. Steve’s has no idea what’s happening. Putting quarters in the machine Bucky explains “With your luck gettin’ all sorts of sick, ya might catch something that will fry your brains and I’m not risking it. I am gonna fight a war, least ya can do is remember me when I’m back. So I’m leavin’ ya a picture of myself, punk”  
Steve starts to laughs and he laughs through the first take. “That’s .. that’s very thoughtful of you, Buck. Thank you.”, he teases back.  
The machine’s done recharging. This time Steve makes sure to be facing the right way. He’s staring at the lens in anticipation when he feels lips press to his left cheek. The machine shoots the next picture just as he turns around to face Bucky, taken by surprise.  
Bucky’s expression is serious, his right hand warm as it strokes Steve’s jaw. Steve doesn’t know what to say so he says “Bucky” and waits.  
Bucky starts to speak, his eyes never leaving Steve’s.  
“Pictures are memories, Steve. And memories are supposed to be truthful” And then he’s kissing Steve, gently, like it’s 1932 all over again and Steve is on the deathbed fighting pneumonia.  
They kiss into the beginning of an early morning, long after the photo booth has drained all of Bucky’s coins.  
On his way home from the harbour Steve thinks about how one can tell a difference between the morning the universe was born and the morning that’s going to be it’s last. As he pulls out a black and white photograph of two familiar faces smiling at each other he decides that the difference would be memories.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys!  
> Thanks so much if you have stuck (ha!) with this fic to the end!  
> As you probably know by now I am not a native speaker + this hasn't been betaed so please let me know about the mistakes!  
> I was listening to Flightless Bird, American Mouth & Ed Sheeran's Photograph a lot so this happened.  
> Since this is my first ever stucky ff, comments/kudos are much appreciated!
> 
> P.S. I don't own these dorks. A far as I know, Marvel does.


End file.
